Underneath it All
by Tegaladwen
Summary: Sam is splitting apart at the seams, and after Dean leaves, it feels like no one is there to help him. Can Cas save him from himself? Set after 9x10, "Road Trip." Sastiel. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, folks, this one is a sad one. This takes place right after "Road Trip." Oh, I should probably mention that Dean is going to be a part of this story (starting in chapter 2), since it didn't say that in the description.**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine (wow, amazing, I know)**

**Pairing: Sastiel**

**Warnings (PLEASE READ, I DO NOT WANT ANYONE TO GET TRIGGERED): a kiss, language, VERY graphic description of self harm, lots of angst, some mentions of suicidal thoughts.**

**I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

Sam was done. He was just done. He was tired of being the good little soldier, quiet and brave. He missed his brother, who had abandoned him again.

Dean had said it was because he was poison, because everyone who got near him died.

"Or got possessed by a fucking angel," Sam whispered, leaning over the bathroom sink.

He knew that wasn't the real reason Dean left, even if Dean said it was. Dean was tired. Tired of lugging around his useless little brother who kept fucking everything up. First he was a psychic demon kid, then he got addicted to drinking the blood of the spawn of Hell, then he was possessed by Satan himself, then he was soulless, and then Sam went insane, like clinically inane. Then, he had gotten his insides ripped apart in an incomplete attempt to close the gates of Hell. Sam had been ready to die then, but Dean dragged him back to life by having some psycho angel possess him. And because of that, he had Kevin's blood on his hands.

Sam let out a shaky sigh. He still wanted to die. He had wanted to then, and he wanted to now.

Sam dug around in his bag with trembling hands, gripping a small package between his fingers. Unzipping it, he pulled out a silver razor blade.

_It's funny how I protect my fingers my keeping the blades in this goddamn package when I'm just planning on slicing up my arms anyway._

Sam could already feel his pull towards the blade. He missed the feeling of his skin being sliced apart, of the red blood rushing over his arms. He even missed losing consciousness when he cut too deep, a sweet release from the hell he was living.

Rocking back and forth on his heels, he pushed his hands against the cold porcelain of the sink. He was so disgusting. He was so wrong for wanting this, for wanting the pain. He was still the addict.

Letting out a fast breath of air, Sam pushed himself off the sink, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a plethora of self-inflicted scars, spanning from wrist to shoulder, although the fabric still covered his biceps.

He traced a thin, light mark on his left arm with his finger, smaller than the rest. It had been his first. He had made it with a kitchen knife when he was thirteen, and he had been doing it ever since.

Placing the blade on his arm in between scars, Sam slowed his breathing.

If Dean ever came back and found out, he was going to kill him. Or leave him again. Which, in a way, was killing him.

"Fuck," Sam whispered, and dragged the blade across his skin. The blood welled up immediately, as if it was waiting to escape.

Right above the new cut, Sam pressed the blade down again, harder this time. Slowly, he made a deep slice. The red warmth sprang faster, pooling in the cut and spilling over. The stream of blood poured into the sink, coloring the white bowl a deep maroon.

Strangely mesmerized, he watched, his arm throbbing.

Cas was going to kill him. That defective angel had saved him over the last few years almost as much as Dean had. He had dragged Sam back from the edge of death more than he ever should have.

Why did Castiel care about him anyway? He had repeatedly called him an abomination or other things like it. Even when they first met, Cas had immediately dubbed him "the boy with the demon blood."

He was only sticking around to heal him now because Dean wanted him to. His living was just a formality for both of them. Saving him was a habit, nothing more.

Letting out a loud sound of frustration, Sam made another cut, right above the last. Small drops of blood met the still steady stream next to it.

He was starting to get lightheaded. That second cut was going to need stitches. He had gone too far.

But a part of him couldn't help but hope for the blackness.

No. He had to stay awake. Castiel was here, and if he discovered-

"Sam?" Cas's rough, deep voice sounded through the door. "Are you alright? I heard you- You sounded angry."

Sam let out a sharp breath of air, running water down the sink, washing the blood away. "Uh- uh, yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Just, uh-" He swept his hair out of his face and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He blinked quickly, shaking his head to try and clear it.

Cas opened the door, and Sam pushed his left arm into his back, attempting to stop the bleeding. He moved the razor blade to his left hand. The angel's eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Sam's eyes skirted the counter quickly. Clenching the blade in his left hand, he noticed the small pouch that held his others.

He cleared his throat, bringing his arm up and running his hand through his hair. "I was just, uh-"

"Sam, your arm," the angel grabbed his hand, then forced his arm straight. Cas traced his fingers over the pinkish-white scars on Sam's right forearm. "What are all these from?"

Sam could feel Cas scrutinizing him, eyes traveling up the length of his arm, noticing how the scars disappeared under his rolled-up sleeve.

Sam was so lightheaded. He felt Cas trying to roll up his sleeve farther. He pulled back quickly. "Uh, they're from, uh-" he felt the blood from his left arm drip to the floor. He had lost so much blood it had soaked through his shirt. "-all the rituals Dean and I had to do."

Sam swayed dangerously. Castiel put a hand on his chest, holding him up. The youngest Winchester watched Cas's eyes travel down his body, looking for a source of his sickness. Finally his eyes drifted to the floor, alighting on the steady drip of blood staining the white marble.

"Sam, show me your other arm."

Sam was pressing heavily against Cas's hand now, but he still managed to begin, "Why? I mean-" Finally, he fell completely, passing out against the angel.

"Sam!" Castiel called as Sam fell against him. He lowered the man carefully to the ground, wary of his head. Immediately, his eyes flew to the boy's left arm. It was gushing blood from three different areas, and based on the sheer amount, he had probably lost a lot of his life force.

Castiel ran his hand over Sam's wounds, healing them in a white glow. "Sam! Wake up!" He grabbed his chin, shaking his head. Sam was out cold.

Cas began to panic. If Sam didn't wake up, Cas would have to tell Dean, and Dean would kill him. Hell, if Sam died, Cas would kill himself.

He never showed it, but he cared a lot about the younger Winchester. Because of Sam's past mistakes, angels made a point of avoiding him. But ever since Cas met him, he had been fascinated by him. No matter what he had done, Sam remained completely devout. He was strong, and had such a capacity to believe in others, even though he had been through so much. Castiel relied on him. Sam was his rock. He had seen Dean cry, he had seen Dean break. But he had never seen Sam crumble like that (except when he went insane, of course, but that was an exception). Castiel relied on that man, the boy with the demon blood, to keep him strong.

Castiel sat back, angel ears peeled for a sign of life. And there it was. The steady, but faint in-and-out of Sam's breath. Cas exhaled with Sam, eyes darting to his arms again. They were covered in straight, clean scars. Cas was hard-pressed to find a square half-inch of clear skin.

Dean's arms certainly didn't look like that. So why did Sam's?

Cas's eyes focused on a silver glint of metal in Sam's left hand. He pulled it out of the man's grasp. It was a blade, small and sharp, fitting perfectly to the common shaving razor. It was bloody.

Squinting in confusion, Castiel scanned Sam's body. When he opened the man's right hand, he noticed a small, circular indent where his right thumb must have been holding the object.

Castiel's eyes went wide in realization. "You did this to yourself," he said aloud, shocked. "You've done all this to yourself. Why would you do that?"

Cas supposed he already knew the answer. His pain was more than his desire to live. Castiel understood this. When he was human, he had felt regret. He had felt fear, and loss, and unbearable guilt over the things he had done in the past. And when that had first happened, he had wanted to kill himself. He had wanted to jump off a cliff and end it all. For those few weeks, he had felt like he was being thrown around and trampled over violently. He had felt like no one cared about him or even cared that he was alive. He had felt alone.

His pain was nothing compared to that of the man in front of him. If he was in Sam Winchester's shoes, he might have taken a razor to his arms, too.

Sam drifted back into consciousness a few minutes later to find Castiel staring at him, pain in his eyes.

"Cas, what-" Sam started. _What happened? _Then, he remembered. His right hand flew to his arm. It was bloody, very bloody, but there were no cuts. Did Cas heal him? Wait- where was his- he had had it in his hand.

Sam looked up to see Castiel twirling the blade between his fingers.

_Shit._ Sam broke into a nervous smile. "Cas, this isn't what it looks like, I-"

"Sam," Cas cut him off. He tilted his head. "You did this to yourself." He looked confused. Sad, almost.

Sam sat up, immediately feeling dizzy and sick. He wanted to pass out, or throw up.

His body, apparently, decided on the latter. He crawled to the toilet and expelled the contents of his stomach. Apparently, Cas couldn't heal blood loss. He would just have to wait it out like every other time.

Castiel handed him a glass of cold water.

"Thanks," Sam whispered. He was shocked to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He hated letting Cas see him this low. He wanted to seem strong, for him, for Dean, for everyone. But Sam was broken. He was broken beyond the point of repair.

He clenched the glass with shaking hands, drinking a little bit, then spitting it out into the porcelain bowl. He flushed, then leaned back against the wall, panting heavily.

"Sam-" Cas started. Sam flinched. Here it was. The hatred, the disgust, the abandonment. The truth. He willed himself not to cry, keeping his eyes shut. He bit his lip.

"Why?" Castiel said.

Sam's eyes flew open. "What?" He clenched his fist, waiting for the ball to drop, his green eyes meeting Cas's blue ones.

"Why didn't you tell anyone what you were doing- what you were feeling? We could have helped you."

A dark laugh sprung from Sam's throat. "Because nobody was listening, Cas!" It was tough to hold back the tears now. "I don't know if you've noticed, but no one pays attention to an addict, or a college dropout, no one pays attention to a complete screw-up like me!" His voice rose until he was yelling, breaking on the last word. Lip trembling, he pulled his mouth into a mirthless smile. "No one fucking cares."

Finally, Sam Winchester shattered, breaking down completely. He sobbed into his hands, shoulders shaking violently, knees pulled up to his chest. He wanted to be strong, he wanted to show everyone, he wanted to yell, "Fuck you!" to the world, but he was done. He couldn't handle it anymore. He wanted to scream. A deep, real, raw scream that would reverberate through his very soul, catching everything negative and expelling it into the air, letting everything go.

So he did. Sam screamed, expressing everything inside him, laying his heart out for everyone to see.

Silently, Cas scooted over to be next to him, putting his hand on the crying man's back.

Instinctively, Sam leaned into him, and Cas slid his arm around his shoulders.

The angel held him like that until Sam stopped crying, for five minutes at least, but it felt like longer.

Finally, Sam sniffed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Sam Winchester," Castiel began, grabbing the sides of Sam's face. "You listen to me. You are not an abomination. You are not a disgrace, or worthless, or whatever else you think you are. You stopped the apocalypse. You save lives. You are a hero, Sam. And don't you dare think you can hurt yourself like this and have no one notice. I care about you, Sam, and I couldn't bear losing you!"

Sam just looked at him. Did he really mean it?

Cas's eyes skirted over Sam's face, thumb catching a stray tear. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head. Then, he leaned in.

Sam didn't know whether it was how overwhelmed he was, or the damage this ordeal had done on his emotions, or how the blood loss must have been affecting his brain, but when Cas's lips touched his, he kissed back.

Sam's lips parted, mouth conforming to the movement of Castiel's, hand gripping his short hair and coming to rest at his hairline in the back.

Castiel slid his hands from Sam's face to his chest, sliding around his sides and to his lower back.

As Sam lightly flicked his tongue against Cas's teeth, he realized. He was kissing Castiel. He was full-on making out with an angel of the lord.

He started to feel lightheaded again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He had forgotten to breathe.

Sam Winchester was kissing a celestial being, and not only that, but his best friend of five years, and he was enjoying it.

Was he gay?

Sam pulled away. "Uh, Castiel, I-" he said, startled. His hands fell away from the angel. He looked down, ashamed, but he didn't know why.

Cas stood up rapidly. "Sam, I d- um." Hesitating as if to say something else, his hand moved to touch the man's shoulder.

Thinking better of it, he turned on his heel, walking out of the room.

Right before he closed the door, Sam called after him, "Cas!"

"Yes, Sam?" the angel replied, peeking his head through the door.

_I'm sorry. _"Please. Don't tell Dean."

Castiel tilted his head, eyes sad and almost pitying. "I can't promise that, Sam." He exited, closing the door behind him.

Sam hit the floor with his fist. "Fuck," he whispered. Slowly, he stood up, his breath shaky. He pressed his hands against the cold wall, trying to fend off the dizziness. He pushed off, hands landing roughly on the counter, mimicking his earlier position. He jumped up on the counter, sitting with his back against the mirror before his lightheadedness could overcome him again.

He surveyed the scene before him. Blood on the floor from where it dripped of his shirt, blood smeared on the marble from where he passed out, a small patch where his back had been, stretching to the toilet where he had spilled his guts, and ending on the bottom of the wall. Where Cas had kissed him.

And Sam had kissed him back.

He wasn't gay; he had loved Jess and Amelia easily enough.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he had only responded because he was so fucked up in the brain due to blood loss; it did look like a fucking battle went down in here.

Sam dismissed the thought. He was in more or less perfect control of his thoughts and his emotions when it had happened. He sighed, wishing it was that simple.

Sam knew there were other sexualities out there, but he'd never assigned himself to one, or really even considered that he wasn't straight. There was bi, but Sam didn't really feel like that fit him. There was asexual, but that one wasn't right either- he liked sex enough.

He clenched his teeth, frustrated. Maybe he didn't fit a label at all. He had been the freak his entire life. Why should this be any different?

And why would Cas even kiss him in the first place? Did angels even have romantic connections? Sam suspected so, but not with humans... right?

Sam laughed a little, shaking his head. Wrong, apparently.

This was just too complicated. He looked at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and tried not to think.

Castiel stared at Sam's phone. He had been debating picking it up and dialing Dean for the past few minutes.

He knew it would be right, of course, to call the older brother, since something was wrong with Sam. But in this case? Sam had been doing it to himself; he had been causing himself pain.

And he had practically begged him not to tell Dean.

Sighing, he grabbed the phone. Sam was hurting himself. He needed help. And Cas didn't know anyone better for the job than Dean.

Cas dialed the number. He needed to get one of these devices. They were very helpful.

The phone rang until it went to voicemail, Dean's voice sarcastically telling him to leave a message after the tone.

"Dean," Cas began, unsure of what to say. What does one tell a man when his brother is hurting himself? "Um, it's Cas. I was just... calling to let you know that-" Cas sighed. "Dean, it's Sam. Um, he's... Just call me back. It's important." He hung up the phone, tossing it onto the table, then he waited for the call back.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading, guys! I have no idea how many chapters this story is going to end up being, but it won't be more than 5 chapters. I will have the second chapter up soon, since most of it is written already. If I need to up the rating, tell me and I will definitely do so. (Also, reviews are greatly appreciated! I love hearing feedback, it makes my writing better!) (Also, I am not a medical professional, so I know absolutely zero about blood loss. If I screwed up, please tell me and I will fix it. I've never written romance before, either, so let me know how that kiss was.)**

**On a more serious note: If any of you are struggling with the issues that Sam is in this story, I highly encourage you to get medical help. If that isn't one of your options, you can _always_ come and talk to me about _anything, _on here or on Tumblr (my url is the same as my domain name). Another site I have found to be extremely helpful is 7 Cups of Tea. It's a chatting site where you anonymously talk to people who are 100% willing to help. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys… let's chalk it up to school, a broken computer, and getting a job :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural :)_

_Warnings: a little language, talk of self-harm_

_I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

Dean threw his duffle bag down on one bed, throwing himself onto the other. He didn't know why he had gotten two beds. Habit, he supposed.

He sighed. It was strange being alone again. He wanted to call Sam.

No, he couldn't do that. Dean was poison. Everyone who got near him fucking died. Especially Sam. Dean had gotten him possessed by some sick, twisted angel, and he was almost torn apart.

"God damn it," he whispered, pushing the heels of his hands over his closed eyes, shutting himself in complete darkness.

Suddenly, his phone rang. A job, maybe? No, he would just let it ring. But, what if it was Sam?

"Shit," he whispered, reaching for it. He looked at the display. It was him. It was his brother.

Dean held his thumb over the answer button, but hesitated to press it.

No, he couldn't answer it. He wasn't going back. He wasn't going to put his kid brother in danger. Never again.

Sighing, he tossed the phone back down.

About a minute later, a small beep sounded. Sam had left a message.

Puffing his cheeks out, he let out a deep breath.

Once more, he picked up the phone, pressed his password (0502, Sam's birthday) in, and held the device up to his ear.

"Dean," Cas's voice sounded. _What the hell? _"Um, it's Cas."

_Yeah, no shit._

The angel continued, "I was just... calling to let you know that-" There was a pause.

Dean was starting to get a strange feeling. Something was wrong. Why was Cas on Sam's phone? What was going on? What happened to his brother?

"Dean, it's Sam. Um, he's... Just call me back. It's important." The dial tone sounded.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He's... what? What was Sam doing? What was wrong with him?

Jaw clenched, he redialed the number.

"Dean," a deep, gravelly voice answered.

"Cas, what the hell?"

"Uh-"

"What's going on with Sam?"

"Dean, I..."

"Castiel, you feathery son of a bitch, what the hell is wrong with my little brother?"

"Dean, calm down. He's not- look, Sam's, um, damaged."

"Damaged? What's that supposed to mean? Did Gadreel-" Dean could feel his heart trying to escape from his chest. How could he leave? How could he do that to his little brother?

"No, none of this was his doing."

"Then who hurt him? What's going on?"

Cas sighed, unsure of what to say. "Dean, Sam is hurting himself."

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. "What?" Dean replied.

Castiel hesitated. Dean wasn't going to take this well. "Sam is... injuring himself. With a blade."

Cas heard a sharp intake of breath through the phone. "What?" he said, voice breaking.

Castiel twirled Sam's razor blade between his fingers. "Where are you?" he finally asked. "I'll bring him to you."

"Uh, North Street Motel, Old Fort, Ohio. Room 106."

Castiel hung up the phone, putting it in his pocket. He disappeared, reappearing in the bathroom, eyes alighting upon Sam, who was sitting on the counter.

The sight that greeted him terrified the angel. Sam turned his head toward Cas slowly and deliberately. His gaze was dull, numb, broken. Cas noted worriedly how the man was leaning heavily on the mirror, perspiration on his forehead, arms laying slack by his sides. His left forearm was still covered in drying blood, as was the floor, and part of the wall.

He tilted his head, moving his sharp gaze back to Sam. He was clearly exhausted, still feeling the effects of both the blood loss and the physical exertion it took to express the emotion he was feeling.

"Cas," he whispered, voice rough from screaming and crying. "I'm sorry."

The angel didn't answer, simply walking towards him. He placed a hand on his arm, and instantaneously travelled through space.

* * *

Sam crashed to the ground, startled by the disappearance of the counter and the mirror behind him.

"Cas, what-" Sam began, surveying his new surroundings. It was a shitty motel, a scene he knew well. Finally, his eyes fixed on Dean, who was hopping to his feet. "Dean?" he said, pushing himself off the ground.

Immediately, a wave of dizziness and nausea overcame him, blackness edging sharply into his vision.

As he started to fall, he felt a pair of strong hands on him.

"Whoa there, little brother. Easy, Sam," Dean coaxed his sibling to the bed.

"Dean, what- Castiel. I told you not to-" Sam began, voice slurring with exhaustion.

Castiel's head tilted. "I know, Sam, but you need help."

Sam tried to sit up, but Dean's arms held him down. "You son of a bitch, how could you do that?" Sam yelled, the struggling making him more lightheaded.

"Sam-"

"I'll tell him about what we did. I'll tell him," Sam's mind flew back to the kiss immediately.

Apparently, so did Castiel's. "I am indifferent as to whether or not you tell him or not."

"Tell me what?" Dean yelled.

"It's none of your damn business!" Sam shouted back. "And neither is this! Get off me!" Sam pushed his brother away from him. Dean stumbled back, but grabbed Sam's left arm, still covered in drying blood.

"Sam!" Dean yelled in shock, but then calmer, he said, "Sammy, what the hell?" He inspected Sam's arm. His little brother's smooth skin was covered in slightly raised cars, all the way up his forearm.

Dean lifted his brother's sleeve a little more. His biceps were covered in them, too. "God, Sam," he whispered.

Sam looked away, flashing his teeth in what was meant to be a smile. "Dean..."

"Take off your shirt."

"What? No!"

"Take it off, Sam," Dean ordered.

Sam glanced over at Cas, who was looking at him, emotionless. Or nearly emotionless. He wasn't going to jump in and help.

Sam sighed, biting his lip. He didn't want Dean to see the extent of what he had been hiding for over fifteen years. Sam knew that his secret would be out. That Dean would find it gross and idiotic. He would finally have a good enough reason to get out, to leave his worthless little brother behind for good.

Sam looked back to Dean. He could already see the disgust on his brother's face, etched in the set of his mouth and the tears of disappointment in his bright green eyes.

The younger Winchester exhaled loudly. He was cornered. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed to make his dizziness less noticeable, and took off his plaid overshirt, leaving on the dark T-shirt underneath.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. He brought his hand to his face, trying to hide the shock and fear that he knew was evident in his expression.

Sam, his baby brother, was covered in the pinkish-white lines, spanning from his forearms to the middle of his biceps, and continuing more under his black T-shirt.

"The other one too, Sam," Dean said. He cleared his throat, holding back tears.

Sam glanced down, defeated. He looked so small, sitting on the bed. How long had he been _doing _this to himself?

Sam took off his T-shirt, exposing his well-muscled abdomen, and even more scarring.

Dean's eyes skirted over his brother. The lines were less condensed here, but they were still everywhere. The most disturbing thing, though, was the scar on the right side of his chest. It was a word. It read, "Why."

The older brother's tears spilled over. "Fuck, Sam."

Sam's posture fell even more. He was tired, depressed, beaten down. He waited for the inevitable yelling, the biting, sharp words that he knew were coming.

"How long has this been going on?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam looked up at him, tucking his long hair behind his ear. "About seventeen years," he said. "On and off, since I was thirteen." His voice faded to a near whisper. He resisted the urge to curl up into a ball. _You're not a child anymore, Sam. Quit acting like one. _John's familiar mantra repeated in the young man's head over and over again. He chanced a look up at his brother. Dean had tears in his eyes, and his hands were drumming on the sides of his legs to hide their still obvious trembling. _Shit. Is he angry? Hurt? He hates me. I've done it. I've finally sent him over the edge. _Sam looked at the ground again, a tear making its way down the bridge of his nose. He reached up with a limp hand to wipe it off. _Don't show weakness or the monsters will know they've beaten you. _Another one of his father's sayings, drilled into his mind from age eight. Sam just never thought the thing he feared would be his brother.

"Why, Sam?" Dean questioned.

Sam absently scratched the back of his neck, almost visibly shrinking under Dean's gaze. _Why doesn't he just get it over with? Why does he keep pretending like he gives a shit?_

Sam shrugged. Almost under his breath, he whispered, "I'm not worth anything to anyone."

Dean was close enough to catch the words, and they made his heart shatter. He immediately sat down next to his brother on the bed. Castiel moved forward at the soft admission as well, but Dean silently waved him off. He needed to talk this out with Sam.

"Sam, come on, man, you can't really think that!" Dean searched his brother's face for some sign, any sign, of love or hope, but he couldn't find any, and Sammy still wouldn't look at him.

Sam sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, why wouldn't I think that, Dean? Dad loved you best; you were always better at what we do. He told you to take care of me because he didn't want to, and it's always been a chore to you, too. I can see it. You've practically told me yourself about a thousand times. And I've always been different! I've been infected with demon blood since I was six months old, and I've been called a freak, or, or, an abomination, ever since then-"

"Sam, I didn't mean-" Castiel cut him off, remembering the hunt for the Whore of Babylon. _Sam, of course, is an abomination. _His stomach dropped out at the memory. _He _had said that to Sam. _He _had caused this.

"Cas, stay out of this!" Dean nearly yelled. "Sammy? Sam, look at me." Sam obeyed. "Don't you dare think, for one second, that taking care of you was just a job for me. Yeah, Dad told me to do it, but I chose to follow that order, and I loved every fucking second of it. And when you were at Stanford? Dad and I would drive by and check on you whenever we were anywhere within five hours of Palo Alto. He was so proud of you, Sammy. You were all he ever talked about."

"Really?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised.

"Hell yeah," Dean replied. "And you are not a freak. You're different, sure, but only because you're a fucking genius. You are a hero, Sam, and you have saved the world so many times. Hell, you stopped the apocalypse! You are worth _everything _to me, man! I love you, little brother!" Dean looked into Sam's hazel eyes, and he finally, _finally _saw what he was looking for. Hope. A flicker of hope. Sammy believed him.

"D'you really mean that?" Sam asked, tears sliding down his face.

"Of course I do. C'mere, man," Dean replied, pulling his little brother into a hug. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Sam sighed, then said, "I was afraid you would yell. Or get angry. Tell me to suck it up."

A tear slid down Dean's face. "God, Sam, I would never say anything like that to you, ever. Not when you're hurting like this. You weren't being weak at all. Okay?"

Sam paused. "Okay."

"Good."

Sam whispered a muffled, "Dean? I love you." into his brother's shirt

Dean clapped his hand on Sam's back, sniffing. The brothers pulled back from the embrace.

Sam gave his brother a shaky smile. "Uh, I'm going to go take a shower. I'm kind of- um..." His voice trailed off.

Dean nodded, and Sam picked his shirts up and made his way to the bathroom.

As soon as the door shut behind his little brother, Dean buried his head in his hands. "God, Cas." He looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. From the bathroom, he heard the cheap shower run. "How could he... seventeen years, he was- what- thirteen? How could... How did I never know?"

"It isn't your fault, Dean. He was very good at hiding it," Castiel said, still standing awkwardly by the bed.

Dean nodded, dropping his head back to his hands, and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, Cas, it is. All those times, I said such bad things to him, and I didn't notice now much it _hurt _him." Dean thought back to all the things he had said to his little brother. _I don't believe in you. If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you._

"How did I not notice something was wrong? I'm right next to him all hours of the day. I mean, sometimes he seemed a little off, but I just chalked it up to Lucifer, or the trials, or... I should have paid more attention."

Cas sighed. "Dean-"

"How did you know?" Dean cut him off.

Cas shifted awkwardly. He didn't know exactly how to explain without hurting the older Winchester more. "I, um, I walked in on him..."

Dean inhaled and exhaled sharply, effectively stopping Castiel's voice. He paused, then said, "So, what did you and Sam do?"

Castiel squinted. "What do you mean?"

"Sammy threatened you with something. He said he would 'tell me what you did.' What did you guys do?" He looked up at Cas, whose eyes shifted away from Dean.

"Uh," Cas didn't know what to say. Dean looked up at him, eyes demanding an explanation. "I think you should ask Sam about that."

Dean was confused. What did they do? "Why can't you tell me? Was it bad?" What was going on here?

Castiel thought back to the kiss, to the taste of Sam's lips underneath his. Was it bad? He didn't think so. He never figured he would fall in love with a human, especially one who had been addicted to demon blood. But ever since he met Sam, he had been fascinated. Fascinated by his selflessness, by the pure brightness of his soul. It had been so beautiful, reaching into every dark corner, every dark recess of the angel's mind and instilling him with hope.

Then Sam had gone to Hell. Cas had tried to get him out from the cage as soon as he could, he had tried so hard to save him, to fix him, to do it all right, but as soon as he set the man back on Earth, he had known something was seriously wrong. The light inside Sam was completely gone. And when he figured out the man was soulless, he had barely held it together. The realization almost killed him. The most important part of Sam had been stuck in the cage with two incredibly angry angels, for 180 years. Castiel had never been tortured by either one of those brothers, but he guessed it was worse than anyone's imagining.

Once Death had retrieved the man's soul, Cas was proven right. He wasn't lying when he told Dean that Sam's soul had felt like it had been skinned alive. But he had grossly underexaggerated the damage. Touching Sam's soul... It _repelled _him. It was so broken, so utterly destroyed; it was a miracle Sam ever woke up at all, even with the wall in his mind.

Which Cas tore down. He had thought he was doing the right thing, but he could see now that that was wrong.

Thankfully, Sam's soul had started to repair itself once it was back inside him, and although it never grew quite to the brightness it once had, it had recovered better than Castiel ever thought it would. Castiel guessed Sam would always be affected by Hell, and he could understand why the human never talked to anyone about it, but according to his wounds, Hell wasn't the only thing pulling him down.

"Cas. Cas. Castiel," Dean said, bringing the angel back to reality.

"I apologize, Dean, I was... thinking," Cas replied.

"'Kay, well, you didn't answer my question. Was it bad? Whatever you and Sam did?"

"No. It's just something that Sam should tell you, I think."

Dean sighed, sitting back down on the bed.

Sam walked out of the bedroom, T-shirt and a pair of his brother's sweats on, wet hair hanging in his eyes. He brushed it away, warily eyeing Dean, trying to get a read on his mood.

"Uh..." he started.

Dean sprang up, turning to face Sam. He smiled. Sam looked better after the shower. Not good, but at least he was recognizable as the once happy kid who saved the world. "Heya, Sammy, how're you feeling?" The older brother looked Sam in the eyes. It was almost disturbing how... normal... Sam looked. Dean's kid brother had gotten way too good at hiding his emotions. Dean's grin faltered at the thought.

"Uh, better," Sam replied. "Can I-"

Dean cut him off. "So, I want to ask you something."

Sam visibly deflated. "Dean, can it wait?" I'm really tired, and I... It's been a long day."

Dean pursed his lips. He didn't want to let the Sam-and-Cas subject drop, but he knew blood loss, and Sam needed food, and he needed sleep. "Yeah. Eat this first, though." He threw his brother a granola bar, making a mental note to take Sam out to eat first thing tomorrow.

Sam obeyed, slowly chewing and swallowing. He threw the wrapper into the trash, laid down, then promptly fell asleep.

Dean yawned, rubbing his eyes. He was tired. He had been driving all day. But he didn't want to leave Sam unattended. Not tonight.

"Cas, will you-"

"I'll watch over him."

Dean nodded, laid back on the bed, and was out in less than ten seconds.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you liked it! If you have time, please review, whether you enjoyed or not.. I'm always trying to make my writing better! Also, I have zero knowledge of blood loss, so if I screwed that up completely, please let me know :)_

_Once more, I encourage you to get help if you are dealing with any of the struggles Sam is dealing with in this story. I'm always here to listen, and I've found the website 7 Cups of Tea to be very helpful. Thank you!_


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